


Be Still and Know Your Sign

by thattrainssailed



Series: In the Devil's Territory [2]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Dark Alec, Demon massacre, Feral Alec, M/M, Violence, dark magnus, edom, prince of hell magnus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2020-01-06 02:42:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18379289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thattrainssailed/pseuds/thattrainssailed
Summary: News travels rapidly. The prince is gone. His pet is left alone.The children of Edom collect to storm the interloper.The black black mass moves towards the palace, writhing and screaming. It shudders with anticipation; a thousand starving demons eager for their revenge against the man who lounges beyond the palace gates. Intruder. Shadowhunter. Hatred shakes them, as natural as as their limbs move against the sand. An angel has invaded Edom. Taken its throne. They will right this error.Onlookers stay silent. They already know the ending to this storm.





	Be Still and Know Your Sign

They wait until Magnus is gone to descend upon the palace.

It begins with a summons from Earth. The High Warlock of Khartoum requires advice on some matters of politics, and Magnus owes her a favour from long ago. His change in realm, he tells Alexander, has not erased the history of his friendships. It is rare that he should return to the surface; he has not done so since he went back for Alexander. Their love paired with Magnus’ gentle encouragement had coaxed Alexander down, and since then, Magnus has had everything he needs. His kingdom and his heart. But even a prince of hell has his debts, and so Magnus must go. He rises from his throne, magic sparking blinding blue against the endless crimson of the dimension. He and Alexander kiss for a long time, Alexander’s fingers curled into his lapels, Magnus’ hands on the other man’s hips, until they have exhausted every breath the have. The portal Magnus rips from air swallows him with the promise of return.

News travels rapidly. The prince is gone. His pet is left alone.

The children of Edom collect to storm the interloper.

The black black mass moves towards the palace, writhing and screaming. It shudders with anticipation; a thousand starving demons eager for their revenge against the man who lounges beyond the palace gates. Intruder. _Shadowhunter_. Hatred shakes them, as natural as as their limbs move against the sand. An angel has invaded Edom. Taken its throne. They will right this error.

Onlookers stay silent. They already know the ending to this storm.

The palace’s walls breach for the mass without hesitation.

The throne room is empty. Demons crawl across the floor, scratch their claws against the dark gemstones of the seat. One of them slides out a long, purple tongue, and tastes the side. It howls at the flavour of angel blood. The sound echoes amongst its siblings and they quicken their pace, throwing themselves down the halls, splintering doors in their search. Every step, every empty rooms, buzzes through their veins, boils in their hivemind. They have a single purpose. Edom must be cleansed.

They find him in the bed chamber.

The sheets are golden silk. They lay wrinkleless over the plush of the mattress, framed by thick drapes that seem to hang from thin air. There is no room for softness in this land, and yet once again Magnus has defied his birthright.

There, in the middle of the sanctuary, is the nephilim. White and black against the golden sheets. His legs are crossed, back straight. He stares down the army of demons before him.

They lunge.

Edom shakes with the shrieks that follow.

Magnus’ job does not take long, even in time on Earth. Indeed, in the warped temporality of the hell dimensions, he returns just a day after his departure. His portal rips open to the centre of Edom, sending creatures scurrying from the light, deferring the land to its king. Magnus’ boots turn the sand to glass as he makes his way to the palace. As he surveys the area, it strikes him that it is bare; not in the ordinary barrenness of Edom, but devoid of movements. Of demons. The ones that remain keep their distance, watching reproachfully. When he returns their gaze, they run.

The stench of blood hits him before he even enters the palace.

He smiles.

The throne room is almost unrecognisable. The sand of Edom has always been a deep red, lit from within by a hint of flaming orange to make it burn the soles and palms of those unfortunate enough to inhabit it. It is a colour that Magnus has come to delight in over the course of his reign, not least because of the delicious contrast between it and his magic. Indigo distinction against cinnabar heat. The colour that paints the room now is not that red.

On Earth, ichor is viscous and black. It sticks to everything like an infection, stains vileness into anything it can touch. In hell, however, demon blood runs red like that of humans in their own dimension. A reminder of their place, of their lack of distinction. They are vermin on the same level as humans. It is that hell’s blood that Magnus sees now.

The sand is covered in it. Deep scarlet against a rust floor, grains pulled into congealing clumps, streams pushing channels through shale in an all-too-late escape route. Bodies litter the room; demons of all shapes and sizes lay torn and mangled. It is not just the throne room, either. Vague silhouettes of corpses disappear into the darkness of the hallways in every direction into the palace. Magnus cannot tell where their grotesque natural frames end and the injuries begin. Stray limbs have been flung about haphazardly, claws pulled perpendicular to their tendons. Magnus cannot begin to identify the ligaments that twitch against the ground. A wail fills the air and another body is thrown against the wall. It cracks sickeningly as it lands. It does not move.

There, in the middle of the carnage, is Alexander.

He is wild. His hair is tousled and matted with blood. It sticks to his forehead, shifting slightly with every moment, drawing thin red lines over his skin. His clothes are torn to shreds, shirt barely hanging off his shoulders, jeans in absolute tatters with rips - six lines in a row, over and over again. Demon claws. His feet are stained dark red with dried blood, uncaring as they crush bleeding flesh beneath them with every sidestep. The same colour drenches his hands, turns his fingernails black. Still more blood paints his face. Splatters up his cheekbones. A handprint against his neck. A swipe across his mouth, tongue flicking out to taste it.

Alexander is smiling.

The demon that crouches opposite him is huge, its serpentine body coasting from side to side as it watches the nephilim. Its fangs are bared. Venom drips from the tips down its face. Endless black eyes stay unblinking in the standoff. It is the last of its kind left alive in this room, yet its fight remains.

Alexander moves first. He charges the ravener. It does not hesitate to meet him. They push forward to meeting, but at the final moment the Shadowhunter steps to the side, leaves the demon careening into empty air. He barrels into its side, knocking it over. It tries to recover, but its heavy body lags and it falls underneath Alexander. For the first time, Magnus notices that the nephilim is not holding a weapon. The curiosity only subsists for a split second before Alexander draws his arm back and then plunges it into the demon’s chest.

The cry cracks the air.

His chest heaves as he reaches around the ravener’s body, his feet and other hand pressing it to the ground, somehow maintaining his balance even when the creature begins to writhe wildly. It does not take him long to find what he is looking for. When he removes his arm, coated up to his elbow in red, he holds the demon’s beating heart in his hand. His feral smile widens. He holds up the heart, observes it for just a moment before letting it slip through his fingers and drop into the curdled sand below.

The demon’s dying body thrashes. Alexander stumbles and almost loses his footing atop it. A frown. He hops off and picks up the thing. Barely a breath of exertion leaves him as he hurls it across the room. It hits the throne and falls to the ground beside it. Its impact is marked by a splatter of blood against the garnet, the liquid quickly making its descent droplet by droplet. The slide down the seat as though the jewels themselves are melting.

The room is silent with corpses.

“Alexander,” Magnus says, and the man looks up. Brightens.

It is an unfortunate scene, Magnus supposes as he crosses the palace to his beloved, but one that was perhaps inevitable. The presence of a nephilim in Hell was always bound to cause trouble. If it had been a different Shadowhunter, Magnus would have never left them alone in this land.

But his love is not any Shadowhunter.

Magnus places his hands on Alexander’s hips. He tracks up his body from his chest, taking in the cuts and bruises that litter his collar, mapping the injuries covering him. When he gets to Alexander’s eyes, Magnus smiles. The man is covered in ichor, grinning ferally, and yet his hazel eyes remain clear and lucid. His brings a hand up to cup Magnus’ face. The warmth of his skin mingles with heat of blood.

“Welcome home,” he says.

His mouth tastes of ferocity.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on [tumblr](https://thattrainssailed.tumblr.com/).


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